


an untitled fic that's primarily based on the constant not existing

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, The Constant does not exist, everything is just fine. :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: everything is just fine.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	an untitled fic that's primarily based on the constant not existing

**Author's Note:**

> primarily done because of the thought of wilson falling asleep in a library was a silly one but it lead to some great potential. so i did it.

He blearily opens an eye, squinting at the harsh morning light, before shutting it again and trying to nuzzle into whatever was available.

He can definitely hear something in the background, the sounds of radio chatter, footsteps…

Then the realization that this isn't his house slams into him like a derailed freight train.

He jolts awake this time, opening his eyes, wide, finding himself lounging on a few pillows and attempting to scramble out of it, only to trip over the blankets around him and end up slamming his chin into the floor.

A slight huff from someone. "You've been sleeping in here all night. Isn't it about time that you get going, Percival?"

Wilson vaguely recognizes the voice as the owner of the library. Wickerbottom.

He didn't find himself to be at odds with the woman, hell, he'd've thought he was on good terms with her. (For once.)

He's not sure why the comment and the usage of his middle name hurts more than it should. He blinks a little, shifting, before pushing himself up into a sitting position and untangling himself from the blanket.

"...I, uh. Suppose it is. My apologies, Miss-- Miss Wickerbottom." The reply to her… question comes out as stilted, not quite used to grappling for words this early in the morning. He wasn't entirely sure if that one was rhetorical or not.

"Don't forget your things, dear." As usual, she has her nose in a book. She liked those books enough to open up a library, he was told once.

Wilson finds himself confused at the nickname, before gingerly recovering his bag (books on science materials in there, don't want to damage them) and getting himself up.

He's not entirely sure where that blanket came from. Maybe the first floor? He gingerly nudges it to the side with his foot, taking care not to trip over it as he gets the stiffness out of his legs.

(The reason why he doesn't bother trying to sleep in chairs very often is mostly because of the stiffness from staying in one position for far too long and the backache. Otherwise, he'd definitely do it more often than not.)

It takes him a moment to realize that the door is to be pulled and not pushed. He presses the lever of the door handle down and opens it, adjusting the strap on his shoulder bag and bringing a hand up to his face to shield his eyes from the bright light.

It's a busy morning outside. The library is somewhere near the center of the town, across the street from half a dozen market stalls.

The sunlight on his face actually feels quite nice, and it's another reminder that he really should get out more.

Science doesn't have time for that, though.


End file.
